


Every Thursday

by orangetree



Category: South Park
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Friends to Lovers, Group Therapy, M/M, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 21:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18709990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangetree/pseuds/orangetree
Summary: It was almost as if he could sense his worry. What if he wasn’t though? What if  they ended up fucking Sid and Nancy’ing each other? He worried about Craig all the time, he consumed all his thoughts. Not the way he used to, where he constantly felt like he was half hard and if he didn’t get home to pull at his cock it would explode. But all the ways he could take care of him.





	Every Thursday

Craig Tucker was out of school for two weeks. Stan had looked for him everyday in the hallway for two weeks. It had always been the best part of his day when he saw Craig at his locker or across the lunch table. His days weren’t normally so bright themselves. He had one bright spot, which was seeing Craig Tucker’s lovely face between their classes. Maybe it was some sick coping mechanism or maybe it was the same bullshit he had always done, pine and yearn and want this person who seemed to have no idea how he felt. But this was his way and he wanted to look into dark fuck me eyes and at soft tanned skin and believe this day wouldn’t be total shit.

Stan Marsh had been going to group therapy for depression for two years. He remembered the pained moment when he told his parents things weren’t getting better and he didn’t know how to cope with that. His mom would drive him into town for group therapy on Tuesdays, solo therapy on Thursdays. He had a hard time opening up at first, he was never great at vocalising how he felt about things. But talking to kids his own age, seeing he wasn’t alone, it was comforting. It made things that seemed big and overwhelming just seem whelming. That someone else out there knew how he felt and he didn’t have to carry this alone.

He came into group one Tuesday afternoon and saw a new person there. Craig Tucker looked tiny sitting in that chair. His frame was so petite and angular, awkward limbs. The only place had any baby fat left was his cheeks, slightly round with freckles dotting across them. He had his knobby knees pulled up to his chest and had a skinny arm around them. He had white bandages on his wrists and it hit him why Craig Tucker hadn’t been in school for two weeks. It was a very visceral reaction to seeing someone you know in true pain. That someone you know tried to end their life and you ignored the signs of this. Craig Tucker was a jerk off fantasy. He was a friend on the edge of the formed boys group. They weren’t Craig and those guys or Stan and those guys, they were the guys in their year. Kyle had long since became the leader with Cartman, Stan blended in the back with Kenny after middle school. He would see Craig at lunch and maybe he did noticed he picked at his food, that he didn’t say much anymore. He just moved the food around from his lunch bag and ended up giving it away to Clyde or Kenny. He would watch him sometimes, but he might have just seen what he wanted to see.

Craig Tucker had tried to slit his wrists two weeks ago. He was suffering from major depressive episodes. He knew the exact medical condition he was diagnosed with. He did the research, he knew what medication they were going to put him on. But he didn’t know how to talk to these people. He definitely didn’t know how to talk to Stan Marsh being here. He was a person from his real life. They were entangled in each other. They shared friends and history. Now he was here as he talked about why he couldn’t handle being alive anymore. Stan wasn’t some kid from group, he was the kid who came to every birthday he had since he was five years old. He had seen him everyday since kindergarten. Now he was here, he knew his deepest secret. 

“I just, I don’t know.” He told the group in his soft monotone voice. “I was tired of waking up everyday and feeling like this. Being in the middle of it. It feels like there is no beginning and no end.” He moved his apple watch around in his tiny wrists. His eyes looked so round and huge on his face, they felt like they took up half his face and Stan felt sick to his stomach as he looked into them. “It's hard to go about your normal day when all you want to do is stop moving.” He told them and Stan felt this pang in his chest. He understood that. What it was like when you needed something to dull your pain, to get you through the day. He also suffered from depressive episodes and substance abuse issues. They were two different sides of the same coin, they could understand each other’s pain. He was afraid to talk about this with Kyle or Cartman. Sometimes he would talk a little with Kenny, he just understood things. He liked talking to Kenny honestly. But he was looking at Craig Tucker and he realised they could talk to each other about things no one else would understand unless you were living with it.

Stan was going to offer Craig a ride home from group when he saw a familiar beat up pickup truck in the parking lot. Kenny was waiting by the truck and he saw him wrap his arms around him in a hug before opening the door for him. Kenny never told him about any of this, he kept Craig’s secret like a good friend. That was Kenny, that was the thing he did. Kept your secrets, protected your integrity. Kenny knew things about him no one knew, he apparently knew things about Craig Tucker too. He was protecting him, he could respect that because all he wanted to do was protect Craig Tucker from the world at large.

But Craig was no damsel in distress. He didn’t need a savior, but he needed something. Stan laid in bed that night wondering what to say to Craig Tucker at school tomorrow. Were they going to act like neither saw the other? That maybe they were two old friends that saw each other everyday and still carpooled together. It was Wednesday, it was Red’s turn to drive. He thought about how Craig would look sitting in the car, just back in their lives like nothing had happened. He wore a navy blue wool duffle toggle button coat. His blue chullo hat, little yellow mittens. He carried a blue Fjallraven backpack and his viola. He imagined this so hard it felt real. Like they were sitting in the car together right now. He was so good at wanting things. Of wanting people and pining and dreaming of these meet cute moments where he reached for Craig’s hand and they had one of those romantic comedy moments.

But this was real life and they were both fucked up. They needed to be handled with care, neither could push for anything. He didn’t even know if Craig Tucker saw him like that. If he saw anyone like that. His romantic history was Tweek, that lasted until the ninth grade. He remembered seeing them together through middle school. As Craig grew quieter and more introspective. Tweek grew stronger and more confident. Their roles had subtly changed over time and that seemed to put cracks in their relationship. Tweek eventually moved on with Esther Stoley, a girl in the theater program with him and Craig hadn’t really dated anyone since. He heard rumors he fucked around with people, college boys mostly. He didn’t really seem to let people get too close and that was ok. It was ok to be scared and closed off. It was ok to not want to open your heart to anyone, but gladly open your legs. 

“I heard Craig hooked up with a bunch dudes at the community college.” Cartman told him once over cafeteria pizza. Craig wasn’t sitting with them that day, he was taking a calculus test in the testing center. He had missed a lot of school this year. Stan should have seen the signs coming, it was so easy to see the signs. But he missed them. He looked at Craig like he was a precious thing. A thing to worship. He put him on a pedestal, just like he did Wendy when he liked her. He missed the ever diminishing weight. He missed the way he moved his food around rather than eating it. He missed the way he stopped talking about all the things that made his eyes light up. He would sit there and look blankly ahead.

“No he didn’t, that’s just shit people say.” Clyde’s nasal voice was sharp. Clyde rarely got angry, he tended to go with the wind. But insulting Craig was the quickest way to earn his temper. “Craig can fool around with whoever he likes. He’s not a slut.” Token’s eyes were also on Cartman, sharp as Clyde’s. Tweek frowned deeply and Jimmy narrowed his eyes. Stan felt a shift in the clique. Clyde and those guys vs Cartman.

“Leave him alone Cartman.” Kenny rarely said much. He spoke when he had something to say. He had something to say right then. Craig and Kenny were close growing up and had gotten closer throughout high school. He was tutoring Kenny in science and would come over to check on his homework for him. Craig and Tricia took care of Karen, made sure she had enough to eat and take her to school. Stan had seen her wearing Tricia’s nice department store clothing. Once Kenny let you in, you always had him on your side. 

“Whatever.” Cartman went back to his pizza and ignore the conversation around him. Stan thought about Craig, the things Cartman said. They made his cheeks heat up, he didn’t want to think of Craig like that. He was the star of all Stan’s fantasies, but they were for him. Even in his teenage lust addled brain, it was hard to think of him like that. It was fine to think of him riding Stan like he was the last person on earth. To imagine Craig underneath him, his hands in his sharp bony hips. His hands in Craig’s hair as he took him in his mouth, his big dark doll eyes looking up at him. But thinking of some other dude, some random faceless dude getting to have Craig like that, it made his chest hurt. Craig was his own person, he didn’t own him, he hadn’t even told him how he felt. Craig just thought of him as Stan Marsh. The boy who had always been on the edge of his life. He had seen his dark eyes on him, but it was fleeting. Never lingered like his own did.

Craig Tucker was sitting up front with Red when Kyle and him got into her little Ford Focus. It was her pride and joy, all fixed up with help from her Uncle Thomas. Craig’s dad quit his cubicle job back in the sixth grade and opened a body shop. People like going to a local boy, a friend they had grown up with. The business was good and family moved into the blue victorian style home across the street from Kyle’s. Craig had his own bedroom and nice things. Not Token nice things, but things he would appreciate. He watched Craig alternating between playing on his iphone and looking out the window. Stan wondered what it felt like to go back to life after some earth shattering event. Did you just make a mental note of what you didn’t want to do this time? Were you afraid you fall back into the same patterns? Did everything look the same? Or was it completely different?

“We’re glad you’re coming back to school Craig.” Kyle was polite, that was what he did. His mother raised him right and he always knew the right thing to say to people. Craig looked over at him with his big dark eyes. He was weighing his response, Stan knew that look. He used to get that look all the time when they were younger and he was always trying to get a rise out of Craig. 

“Thank you.” Was all Kyle received in return. Craig went back to staring out the window. He saw Red reach over and squeeze his slight shoulder every so often. She was trying to be supportive. Her cousin coming back from the worst thing that could ever happen to someone. Stan was so afraid to say anything to him. They had this secret, this thing they shared that no one else knew about, well, except for Kenny of course. He caught Craig’s eye and he received a tiny little closed mouth smile in return. That threw him, he wasn’t expecting that at all. Craig usually gave him an eyeroll or a glare. 

“Can I talk to you?’ Craig asked him as they walked into school together. He moved off from the main hallway near the library. “I'm not really ready to talk about what happened, do you think we can keep my situation to ourselves?” He shifted his weight from one foot to another. It was very deliberate, The way Craig shifted, the way he held his viola close to his body. His eyes were huge and scared, but he was trying to put on a very neutral front. His face looked very put upon, his eyes betrayed him. The awkward way he held his skinny frame, Craig Tucker had long given up on being cool. He was who he was, playing cool never got you anywhere in life.

“Of course, it's your situation to share.” Stan softened as he talked to him. His eyes were also betraying him, he loved Craig Tucker more than he knew how to explain into words. He felt this surge of affection as he looked into those big scared eyes. He felt like he came upon a wounded animal, he wanted to make it better, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know how to approach him. He also moved deliberately, tried to make himself look more casual, not so awkward. He slung his hockey bag over his shoulder, he needed something to do with his hands.

“Thank you, I'm a little nervous being back here.” He admitted to him. His bandages were covered with his sweater sleeves. Stan saw him pull them down awkwardly, he was trying to hide them. “It's not terrible having you in group.” Craig looked over at him with the same little smile he had in the car. Just the edges of his lips quirked up. It made Stan’s chest clench. They weren’t alone with their secret, they had each other. They didn’t have to walk through this alone.

“Do you need some help getting your books to your locker or to class?” He asked Craig impulsively. “Not that I think you can’t carry them, but maybe not to strain your stitches.” He finished off quietly, so stupidly. He was so fucking stupid to bring this up. He hated himself for a moment. He always made a fool of himself in front the person he liked. He had war flashbacks of puking on Wendy Testaburger. Now he just stuck his foot in his mouth. At least Craig wasn’t covered in regurgitated coffee and pancakes. Just white hot embarrassment. 

“Are you asking if you can walk me to class and carry my books?” Craig actually smiled. A real smile where he showed his old fashioned metal braces. It made him look more approachable, not like the ice queen fantasy Stan would have sometimes. He looked so human right now, it was throwing him. Craig was his fantasy, his stoic beauty that he could disappear into when he needed space from his everyday life. He looked so desperately human right now. Crooked little smile, the way he clutched his viola to his chest. The ragged cuff of his ratty blue cardigan. Even the bulge of his backpack, all his books shoved into it. He just looked like Craig Tucker, the boy who would sneak his pet to school in his backpack or helped them find Kyle’s brother that one time he went missing in the fourth grade. He would forget he had known him his entire life sometimes. He felt like he just materialized out of nowhere once puberty hit. He had always been on the edge of his life, now he was the star of all his wants and daydreams.

“I don't know, only if you’re agreeing to it.” He tried to joke but it came out awkward and stilted. Craig just shrugged in response and motioned for Stan to follow him to his locker. Tweek had the locker next to Craig’s and was waiting there with two paper cups of take out coffee. He handed one to Craig silently and gave him a one armed hug from behind.

“I dont like when you’re not in school.” Stan heard him murmur. They stayed such good friends after their breakup.He wished Wendy and him could connect like this. They just nodded in each other’s direction sometimes. She had long moved on from him, dating a senior in the National Honor Society, class president. He had moved on too, but it wasn’t the same.

“I know, but I needed some time away.” Craig gave Tweek the same little quirked smile and moved aside after putting in his combination so Stan could pull out his AP chemistry book for him. “I need my chemistry book for my first period and that dark green binder.” He told him softly. Stan pulled them both out carefully, like he was afraid he would mess this important task up. Craig handed him his French four book and the accompanying purple binder. “I'm going to grab my AP European history book too, that yellow binder too.” Tweek still had Craig in a one armed hug, his chin resting on his head. Craig’s hair was neatly combed and hidden under his blue chullo hat. He wished he could hold him in a one armed hug like that. 

“I’ll see you at lunch.” Craig told Tweek solemnly and he walked beside Stan like a dream. They didn’t say much, but they didn’t really need to. Stan met him after every class to do this exact task. He did this the next day and the next day. It became their routine, he would wait for Craig after every class to help him carry his things, not that he was weak. He just didn’t want him to strain his stitches, he also didn’t want him to feel alone back in school. Sometimes Clyde or Tweek or Kenny would join them. Clyde carried his viola and teasingly held it out like you would present something to royalty. It made him smile and those were the moments Stan lived for.

“Do you want to go get something to eat?” He asked Craig after group one day. “Anywhere you want, I can pay or whatever.” He trailed off awkwardly again. He didn’t know if this was asking him out. He didn’t know if this was all too soon. If they were both asking for trouble or some sort of emotional dependency on each other. They talked about their day and their fears and their little happy moments in group. The breakthroughs to the other side of all this and sometimes, you spent more time in the dark than you wanted to. But he wondered if he would be a good distraction or a bad one or just one. Take it slow, be supportive. Do his best to be someone Craig could depend on in a healthy way like Kenny or Clyde or Tweek.

“Ok, just us two?” He asked him softly. Craig had long given up his grudge against them, his group of friends. But when they were all in a group… He really did like Kenny, he was a good guy. Now they were finding their own connection and their own friendship. 

“Yeah, just us.” He cleared off the front seat in his beat up truck. Fast food wrappers, hockey pads. The sweet earthy smell of marijuana clung to the fabric. He offered his vape pen to Craig, no harm in a little chemical courage. He watched him out of the corner of a dark blue eye, taking a drag of starburst flavoured weed. The way he looked when he exhaled. 

They ended up at the dinner on the edge of town with the best cheese fries and milkshake. They picked at their food and talked. He had never heard Craig talk so much. He was quiet, he didn’t say much unless he actually had something to say, much like Kenny. But he was opening up, blooming like a flower in front of him. He felt like for one moment, there was good in South Park, in the world. That maybe, things could stand still and he would find the peace he searched for. In his world weary mind, this could be ok.

“Can I ask you something?” He asked Craig as he dipped a cheese fry in ketchup. “How did you stay such good friends with Tweek? Wendy and I barely even acknowledge each other anymore.” He missed her. He needed her sometimes, her advice, her fierceness. He wished he could talk to her about Craig, about group and how life was just so fucking hard sometimes. Everything was harder anymore. But as you grew, things grew infinitely more complicated. He missed when they were easy. Wendy was this reminder of when things were easy. 

“Well, I mean, we had a very mutual split.” Craig started. “We grew apart together. I still love him as a friend, he’s so good. He’s kind and good, I feel like I need people like that in my life.” He looked over at Stan. “I knew it wouldn’t last forever, we dated in the fourth grade, we were totally different people by high school. There is no ill will, we just felt we worked better as friends.” He saw how Tweek was around Craig now. Tweek was calmer, more confident. He still had some anxiety, but who didn’t in high school? Anxious was everyone’s natural state. If it wasn’t, consider yourself lucky. He felt anxious most of the time. 

“Have you tried talking to her? Just seeing how she’s doing?” Craig asked him. Stan was so many things. He was a good guy, everyone knew that. But he had always hid behind something when it came to the people he liked. Wendy was out of his league, Craig had problems and wasn’t ready to be pursued. He never had the faith he could just find common ground with people. He had common ground with Craig, they had this connection he needed in his life. Craig was becoming a real person to him, he was weaving himself into the tapestry of Stan Marsh’s life.

He drove Craig home, listening to Manchester Orchestra low on the radio, it set a mood that he couldn’t really ignore. It was pretty out, cold and clear, you could see all the stars in the sky. He walked Craig to his door like a gentleman and hugged him tightly to his body. He breathed in his scent, apple fabric softener Laura Tucker used. Herby sweet shampoo and the soft earthiness of wool. He felt Craig cling to him for a moment, he didn’t seem to want to let go either.

“You've been just the person I need right now.” Craig told him softly. They had separated now, but Craig put both hands in his. He squeezed them gently, his hands were so soft, his skin was so soft. Long graceful fingers that were calloused at the tips like his, both of them playing a string instrument. Small palms, his hands were smaller than Stan’s, but his fingers were longer. They found each other in this fucked up world, as they collided through their sadness. Stan never believed someone in his life could relate to his melancholy that coloured his life since childhood. That he was alone, he was doomed to feel like a puzzle piece that never quite fit. You could jam it in there, the picture would come together but it would be slightly off. But here came Craig Tucker, his masturabtory fantasy of soft tan skin and big dark eyes that found this place in his life beyond the surface want. That understood that life fucking sucked. That it was hard and you struggle to find your place in this vast, unforgiving world. That you got knocked down and you had to decide what to do next. That maybe you needed to just lay there a while and figure it what to do next. That you needed someone to be quiet with. Craig was a good person to just be quiet with.

“You’re just the person I need right now too.” He told Craig softly. He told Craig this like it was a prayer that he whispered into the world. That he was praying to the deity of his choice and that supreme being rewarded him Craig Tucker like a fucked up angel. He could see Craig’s broken wings and bent halo, but it was there. Shining like the star he was, leading Stan to salvation. He put one of his palms on Craig’s curved doll cheek and gently stroked over the bone there. He felt the warmth of his skin and the softness of his breath. He pressed his forehead to his and closed his eyes for a moment. Just breathed in this moment of being close to him. He wanted it to never end. Just this fragile moment with a slightly broken, bent boy he loved.

“Come inside.” Craig told him softly. Maybe he was praying too. Praying to the deity of his choice and he was unfortunately given fucked up Stan Marsh. The boy who was always just a little late. Something always a little off about him. Craig lead him up the stairs silent as a cat, he swore his footsteps barely made a sound. He shut his door silently and kissed Stan like he was dying. He kissed Stan like he didn’t know this could only end one of two ways, complete devastation or salvation. He was being gifted Craig Tucker, so Stan better not break him. He put his big hands under Craig’s shirt and traced over the divots of his spin and the slope of his shoulder blades. He laid back on the bed and let Craig straddle him, he slipped his worn blue cardigan off his slight shoulders and down the floor. His Joyce Manor shirt was next, Stan touched the high point of his ribs as he arched his back with his slightly rough, calloused fingers. He was his hormonal daydream, he was trying so hard not to cum too early in his dickies. He let his hands stroke down to Craig’s sharp hip bones and squeeze them hard enough to bruise. To make this all seem real and not some day dream he had while watching tv or zoning out in class. He wanted to see the marks he left on him, make sure he was there. That tomorrow this would all mean something.

Craig Tucker passed him lube and a condom and he didn’t want to ask if this was his first or one hundredth time. That he heard the rumours and he wondered if this confirmed them. Did it even matter? He was here with him now and he was all his, even if it was only for tonight. He needed one night with Craig, that's all he could ask for. Anymore would just be selfish. Craig eased onto him slowly, trying to adjust around Stan’s length and girth. He moved like someone trying to gain confidence, his hips slowly rolling at first. Stan felt like he was floating in space, that this couldn’t be real. How did Stan Marsh have someone like Craig Tucker in his arms? How did this average boy with average grades, average looks and an average life have this earth angel on his cock like this? He must have saved a busload of orphans in his past life or invented a cure for cancer. He was redeeming his once in a lifetime miracle pass. Craig moaned his name softly, the way his name sounded falling from those plush pink lips, the way he took Stan’s thumb in his mouth as he pressed them to his bottom lip. Craig was bouncing on him with such confidence, it almost didn’t seem like the same awkward, soft spoken boy he knew. It didn’t take long for Stan to cum, he knew he couldn’t last buried in Craig Tucker, it was an impossible task to think otherwise. That he couldn’t leave Craig hanging and he had to help him out, so he moved his hand down to him and pulled at him until he came with a soft cry of his name and fell forward into his chest, not caring that he fell into the mess he made on Stan’s stomach. He eventually crawled off Stan and he let him gather him into his arms. He kissed Craig’s lips, cheeks, nose and forehead. He didn’t say anything about the scars on Craig’s wrists, deep and angry looking. That was another conversation for another day. One they had to both be braver, more open to have. Right now, this night was about finding someone to spend some time with. To make everything a little more still and a little more quiet. Make the voices just stop for a moment. He felt Craig nestle into his arms, burying his face into his chest. He could be that for him for one night.

Craig Tucker curled into himself during their group meetings. He pulled his knobby knees up to his chest and would listen silently as the members told their stories. Kolby had a chemical imbalance, he had first tried to kill himself at fourteen. This was his fifth attempt and he didn’t like his medication. Sasha had anorexia and she had become depressed over the lack of progress in her recovery. Stan had been depressed since he was ten, he had turned to alcohol on and off to make things just a little more tolerable.

“I think it was after I came to school drunk in the eighth grade, I knew I had a problem.” He admitted to the group. They all murmured words of encouragement. “I'm trying not to just transfer my dependence on alcohol to marijuana, but I find myself smoking multiple times a day, I think I just need anything to make things easier. I don't know, I'm just so tired.” He looked over at Craig. He wanted to stare into his endless dark eyes. He wanted to find salvation into dark eyes, soft tan freckled skin and skinny limbs. He wanted to murmur prayers into Craig’s black hair. He wanted to believe that Craig needed him too, that maybe they could make each other a little better. That they could find this salvation in each other. That was so naive and teenage. It was something out of a YA novel and he knew it was wrong. He knew that they should get better for themselves. That it was the only healthy road to recovery, to do the work and find the support systems. He wanted to be Craig Tucker’s support system, or one channel of it. He wanted to look into those dark eyes forever.

Craig was smoking a menthol american spirit cigarette after group and looking out at the parking lot. He was huddled under the awning of the building, working up the courage to go out in the rain. He pulled his wool coat around him, shielding himself from the wet chilly air.

“Are you ok?” Stan would ask him so gently, not to spook him, not to shame him into talking about something he wasn’t open to yet. Craig told them in group sometimes he still felt the urge to self harm. That it hummed under his skin and he wondered if he would ever have the courage to try and end his life again. He looked so ashamed as he told them this in his soft, monotone voice He heard it shake just slightly, on the edge of tears. He could feel it everywhere, he could feel it seep under his skin and into his brain and down into his chest where it ached.

“I feel like such a failure.” He told them all so softly Stan could barely hear him. He reached over and took Craig’s hand in his and squeezed gently. “I just want to be better and it's not going according to plan.” He admitted. Craig was smart, he was accomplished. Won the science fairs, took the AP classes. First chair in the orchestra. Things came easy to him because he was willing to put in the work. This was a whole new kind of work and it was hard and he found himself starting to slip. The grades weren’t coming as easy. Concentrating on calculus was hard when you were trying to get your health back in order. Maybe he didn’t practise the viola as hard as he used to. Maybe he didn’t read ahead in AP US history. Maybe this needed to be the focus and it was hard. Everything was hard.

Craig Tucker liked things plain and boring. That’s what Stan remembered him telling them at ten. But in reality, he just didn’t like change or upheaval. He liked things to be as they were, everything had its place and time. Everything had it’s boxes, just check them off. This was upheaval, it was change and everything in his world felt a little off now. Everything was duller, the colour slowly draining from it. He tried to jump back into his old life. Just come back to school like nothing had happened, he was just ill for two weeks. He wondered if he wasn’t meant for his old life and he didn’t know where to go from here, he felt trapped. Trapped in barely being able to get up in the morning and brush his teeth and take a shower. In going to class and going to activities and going to his own therapy sessions. Taking his medication and checking in with his parents. It was all upheaval and it was all hard. It hurt and it made him feel like he couldn’t do anything right. This aura of self hatred around him coloured everything a dull gray. He hated it and he hated himself and he wondered sometimes if he was letting everyone down. But Stan was still here. He wasn’t going anywhere. 

“I don't know, lets just drive around for a while.” He told Stan quietly as they made a run for Stan’s truck in the rain, Stan clutching his hand like a child. He drove Craig all over town, out to Stark’s Pond. It was so quiet, just the thumping of the rain on the roof of his truck. That metal ping and the way the windows looked all wavy and foggy. He saw Craig sink into the worn leather of the seat and close his eyes. His dark lashes made shadows on his cheeks, he looked very vulnerable right now. Like Stan could easily crush his bird bones under his hands. There was something about Craig that made him feel like a man and he could smash things and destroy things. This surge of power that coursed through his veins and radiated through his limbs. He never felt an urge to protect anything. Shelly could always handle her own shit, she never needed her little brother around. Kyle was crazier than him, he had this fight in him that scared Stan sometimes. Truth be told, Kyle probably protected him, anyone with a brain could see that. Kenny was so chill, no one needed to protect him, he just knew what he needed to do in most situations. He had this almost supernatural knowledge of the world, so eerily calm sometimes. Craig wasn’t a damsel in distress, he knew this. He had this thought over and over again. But hearing that small voice and seeing those eyes that never could hide anything, he wanted to protect him against this shitty fucked up world. That everything that disappointed him and made him cry could go through Stan Marsh first. He knew it was stupid and hard headed, Craig could fight his own battles, but they seemed to be fighting him right back. He watched as he folded in on himself, he looked world weary. He didn’t want that for him. He wanted them to be able to fight them together.

“I love you.” He told Craig. He had to tell him incase he floated away tomorrow, he wasn’t tethered to this earthly realm like he could have been. Craig opened his sad dark eyes and looked over at him. His eyes were ringed in dark circles like bruises, he wondered how much sleep Craig got. Too much or too little, never quite enough, never quite right.

“Do you love all the ugly parts of me?” He asked him softly. “The parts that I keep hidden from everyone?” He knew what Craig was referring to and he nodded. He loved all the ugly parts. The deep ugly scars, the sad lonely blue parts that dulled his world and took him from him from time to time. The parts that shrunk from the sunlight and stayed hidden behind drawn curtains. He loved those parts too. He wanted to slay those demons for him, to vanquish them back into darkness and bring light back to him. But in order to do so, he had to figure out how to do that for himself. He had to be good for himself to be good for his kitten. 

“Are we bad for each other?” Craig asked him softly, his head on Stan’s broad shoulder. They were sad boys, the sort that shrunk from the sunlight and felt loss so deeply and personally. It's never easy to find contentment in this world. To find the best in the worst, to come out the other side ready to slay your demons. He still struggled with it and he knew Craig was going under it. But they were there together, shrinking from the sunlight. 

“No, you’re just the person I need right now.” He told him honestly. He would never forget those words, they were the words they said to each other the first night they got together. They were just who they needed. They could fight together and comfort each other when things didn’t work out. He needed Craig because he finally gave him something to really fight for. Stan wasn’t really known for having great follow through. Craig needed him to show him that he could do this, there were things worth fighting for. That they could make it out together, they could get better for themselves and they had each other along the way.

Craig slept curled against his chest. It was almost four in the morning and Stan was awake watching Craig sleep peacefully next to him in the front seat of his beat up truck. He felt the eyes of the everwatching world peek in on him. Tomorrow he would have slay a whole new set of demons. Whatever the day threw at him. Assignments that were taxing, social contacts that needed to be honoured. The things that wear you down everyday, made every hour seem like days, months, years. Stan reached down and stroked through Craig’s soft black hair, the repetitive motion of his fingers going through the strands made him feel content for a moment. Relaxed, like he could sleep all day or spend the hours doing whatever he wanted. Craig was a calming presence in his life, his quiet nature was rubbing off on him. He liked the days where he just said so little, only spoke when he had something to say, not filling up space with endless chatter. This was all he needed at the moment, to watch his kitten sleep and look out at the still gray water of Stark’s Pond. Just for a moment.

Craig wasn’t in school later that week and it filled him with dread. He remembered their last group session where he said he was still thinking of harming himself. That it still hummed under his skin, tempting him. That life still felt so huge and daunting and he wondered if any of this was worth it. He tried not to take any of this personally, this was the nature of the disease. Sometimes you could only see your situation, you couldn’t think about the other people in your life. But it hurt, like someone punched him in the gut. It took his breath away and he wondered what this all meant to Craig. Was he someone to fill the time with, or was he someone that mattered in the end. He wanted to matter so badly he could feel it colour every moment they spent together. Him silently begging Craig for more. Please love me like I love you. Please need me, tell me I'm not replaceable. Tell me you wont leave me behind. It was a selfish thing to make Craig’s pain about him, he knew this. He knew that he just needed him here. He couldn’t ask for more than he could give right now. The thought of waking up one day and he would be gone haunted him. It was in every glance and touch and silent prayer he directed towards Craig Tucker.

But in the end, he was a kid. That he was only sixteen years old and he was selfish. He hadn’t seen enough of the world to be completely selfless. That his own depression haunted like a ghost on the edge of his life. That he was putting so much into this relationship with an equally broken boy. He was selfish, he was needy, he was broken. He needed so much. He hoped, that there was this sliver of hope, that Craig saw something in him too.

“I was overwhelmed this morning.” They were sitting on Craig’s galaxy print duvet, in his teenage bedroom. Craig still had those glow in the dark stars childishly stuck to his ceiling. He told him once he spent all weekend with Clyde mapping out the constellations. Stan looked around the room and it always struck him how ordinary Craig was. He had idealized him and fantasized about him for so long, his space was a kid’s space. Blue walls and a desk, a desk he sat at everyday and did his homework. The posters for bands he had vowed to check out and space and star maps. He still had a stuffed guinea pig on his bed, it looked very well loved. All the fur on its belly was rubbed away, he remembered Tweek giving that to Craig in the fifth grade for valentine’s day. Sometimes when he didnt think Stan was paying attention to him, he would rub it’s belly for comfort. The room was kept neat and organized, a place for everything in it. Things were labeled and he would forget how uptight Craig could be. Subtle reminders that he was endearingly human.

“Im sorry I worried you.” He looked away for a moment, his cheeks were tinged pink. He seemed to be embarrassed that he needed some time to himself. That he should just be able to jump right back into things after his suicide attempt. There was no clear cut directions to recovery. It wasn’t as if you just went to therapy and medication and you were cured. You were this whole person again and everything in your life is where it should be. You needed time and space to reevaluate things and put life into perspective. To be able to someday carry on with your life. Stan didn’t want to Craig to feel shame that this wasn’t easy. Nothing worth having is ever easy, it's always work. 

“Don’t apologise, you needed some time to yourself.” He put his hands on Craig’s skinny arms, rubbing them up and down in comfort. They had been each other’s source of comfort for the last few weeks. Craig needed him and he needed him right back. He felt Craig loop his skinny arms around the back of his neck and pull himself close. He buried his face in the front of Stan’s flannel shirt, breathing in his scent. It was Target bought cologne and the heady scent of soil from helping his dad after school on the farm. The slight smoky sweetness of marijuana, it would cling to the fabric of his clothes. It was Stan’s scent and it was comforting and warm and he wanted to wrap himself in it like a blanket.

“You always smell like the earth and the sun and it’s so good.” Craig’s voice came out muffled from his face still being pressed to his chest. He felt soft hands nimbly unbuttoning his shirt, reaching in and touching the ridges of his chest. He felt Craig press his hands against his pecs and stroke over them gently. Craig rarely initiated physical contact, that was his job. He always got a special thrill from it when he did. He felt it everywhere, pulsing through his limbs and back into his core. His dick was half hard and he wanted to press his entire body into Craig’s. He felt Craig’s metal covered teeth nip at his jawline and he groaned softly. Craig was undoing his jeans and sliding down to the floor in front of him. He knelt down in front of Stan Marsh like he was praying, taking him into his mouth. His hands were in Craig’s hair, gently tugging at it. Craig opened his huge doe eyes and looked up at him with his dick in his mouth and he almost came right there on the spot. He needed self control, he wanted this to last longer than a few moments. Craig’s mouth was warm and soft and it was taking everything in him not to just thrust up into it and down his throat. It never lasted as long as he would have liked it to, it was too good, too much. It was quick and he ached for more. 

“Can you still fuck me?” Craig looked up at him with those eyes. Those huge sad eyes, when they fucked, they weren’t two fucked up, depressed kids with nothing in common but their depression and each other. They were normal, they were teenagers. They weren't ugly things that shrunk from the sunlight and wanted to hide in the darkness. They were good at that, intertwining like this, the physical aspect of this whole thing. They weren’t so great at the talking part, they had enough of that in group therapy. Sometimes all they wanted to do was fuck and sleep and get high. Simple acts that felt selfish when vocalised. Not every relationship was talking all night and baring your soul to each other. It was simple acts that made Stan Marsh believe that maybe being human wasn’t such a bad thing to be. 

“Yeah, just give me a minute to recover baby.” He pressed his forehead to Craig’s and looked into his endless dark eyes. Craig pulled him down on top of him, his body resting between this skinny thighs. He rolled his hips up needy against Stan, he heard soft puffs of breath coming from him. He felt his soft hands on his toned back, clutching at his pale skin. Stan had a farm’s tan, his arms browner than the rest of him. He felt himself getting hard all over again, he was always hard when it came to Craig. He awoken something inside of him, he felt his brain was fuzzy and lust addled half the time they were together. He could never think straight, all he wanted was for something soft and tight and warm on his dick. Craig passed him the lube like he was passing him the salt at dinner, it was becoming so well practised. He knew what Craig liked, a good hard fuck where he wasn’t thinking and he wasn’t feeling anything but Stan pounding into him. He wanted Craig, he wanted him in any way he could get. Everything between them felt fleeting, like this all had an expiration date. That someday Craig would throw him out like he didn’t fit in his life anymore. His own insecurities getting in his way like they always did.

“Fuck me Stan.” His voice was soft and breathy and still had that nasal edge to it. But he knew what he wanted, he knew he wanted it harder and faster and deeper and make me feel human again Stan. Im sad and Im scared and sometimes I just want to throw myself off this earthly plane, can you please just tether me to this place for a few moments in time. When the dust settled and the world became still, Stan Marsh would be here. In the marks on his throat and shoulders and collarbones. In the bruises on hips and thighs, in the smell of cheap cologne and earthy marijuana, Stan Marsh made his mark in the young life of Craig Tucker. He fucked Craig Tucker into the mattress of that little full size bed, in that teenage bedroom. He heard the headboard hit the wall, the squeak of the frame and the cry of Craig saying his name. He knew his parents knew exactly what was going on in that bedroom where Craig shut the door and shut out the world and kept all his secrets. He collapsed onto his skinny little frame, sweating and panting and he had never came so hard in his entire sixteen years on this planet. He buried his face in the junction between Craig’s throat and his shoulder, both bitten up and bruised like the banana no one wanted at the supermarket. He felt this overwhelming surge of emotions washing over him. He felt this urge to sob into the soft tan skin of Craig Tucker, to sob like he was a child again. He didn’t know why, but it was there and he just felt loss. He felt empty after that, like he used all his emotions in their last hard fuck in this little full sized bed. 

He felt Craig wrap his skinny arms around him and stroke over his back. He looked up at Stan with those fucking eyes that got him into this whole thing. That back in the eighth grade he noticed that Craig Tucker had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen and that lead him down the road to sobbing into his shoulder because he was so afraid this was it for them. That there would never be a moment like the last one. Craig wiped the tears off his face with his thumbs and kissed his cheeks gently. He was comforting him in the only way he knew how, because he knew that words were never his strong suit. But touch, that was something he could do easily. He let Stan stay the night, curled up together under his weighted blanket, under the artificial light of the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling.

“I would miss you if you were gone.” He worked up the courage to tell Craig this. They never spoke of their feelings of loss towards each other. If Stan ever allowed himself to just go under, that the drinking and the sadness were too much. If he ever left this earthly plane, that he would just be gone one day. If Craig decided one day that he wanted to try again, if this world finally broke him down and he just wanted some peace and quiet. That they would feel this overwhelming loss of each other. That they coloured every aspect of each other’s young lives. He needed him to know that he would be missed. That the words I would miss you came out of his mouth and let Craig know that he would feel a loss without him. 

“I would miss you too.” He told him gently. He tried to search for meaning in Craig’s tone, but that was never easy. He wasn’t the sort that raised his voice or changed the timber. It was flat, one easy tone. But he believed him, he had to believe him.

He kissed the soft skin of Craig’s arm, he kissed over the scars on this wrist, deep and ugly with the connotations of what they meant. He kissed the little scars on his upper arm that he usually kept hidden with longer sleeves, silvery scar tissue that no one knew how to ask him about. He kissed his bony shoulders, awkward and slightly sloping. He kissed up his throat to his soft pink lips and looked into his eyes and felt at peace tonight. It was hard to come by and he still felt like he was floating in space and the footing just wasn’t quite right. But he had tonight and tomorrow was another day. He couldn’t worry about that right now.

Stan never questioned the nature of the universe before all this. That was always Kyle’s thing. Where did we come from, is this all there is? He just wanted to make it through the day, he never asked if there was a high understanding. Life was simple if you wanted it to be. Come home from school, bullshit through your homework. Play video games, smoke decent weed, maybe things would work out, maybe they wouldn’t. But at the end of the day, you’re still here. The knowledge of the universe never mattered, we were here whether you questioned it or not. It wouldn’t matter in the long run. Craig made him change how he saw things things.

Stan had been in his therapy group for three years. He had known people who had gotten better and moved onto different sorts of therapy. He had known people who had taken longer in recovery and moved onto different sorts of therapy. He had lost friends, death can touch anyone. It doesn’t discriminate and it always hurt. Craig was hurting in a way he didn’t understand. While life wasn’t perfect, he had never wanted things to be over. He always wanted to push forward and see what was on the other side. Craig had a harder time with that, he struggled to see tomorrow past today. He tried to make it better, he tried to be understanding and use all the tools their therapist gave him. Before all this he never thought of Craig as someone who struggled like he did. The fleeting meaning of what happiness was. At ten, they told him he had cynical bastard disorder and maybe that coloured the perspective on what being happy was. He watched as his father jumped from new obsession to new obsession, trying find the contentment that most people search a lifetime for. It was never enough, there was always something else, something new. He worried that it would be him one day. He couldn’t find contentment, he was so scared he would be unhappy, that he would always need something to get him through the day. 

He laid on his bed and looked up at his ceiling and took a hit out of his vape pen. This sweet rebellious feeling of doing something his dad just hated. He had always been allowed to smoke weed. His dad thought it was just fine to let Stan at thirteen smoke his day away. But the vape pen added to it, well, that was for pussies son and you’re not a pussy. He was so proud of Stan getting his first girlfriend, popular beautiful smart fierce Wendy Testaburger. He held her hand and took her to the school dance and she was cool and he was cool. Then they drifted apart, she was too smart for him and everyone knew it. She was the accelerated path with Craig and Kyle. She moved on without him and he stood by and let it happen. He fell out of love too, focusing on other things. Focusing on Craig Tucker’s mile long eyelashes and the snorty ugly laugh. He had a constellation of freckles across the bridge of his nose and his cheeks. He still liked pokemon, played pokemon go on the weekends when everyone else was too cool for this. He looked so excited telling them about the telescope his dad bought him for his thirteenth birthday and looked a little hurt when Cartman laughed and called him a fag. No one fucking cared about science Craig, call us when you get a new Xbox. He was so afraid to tell his dad he traded one beautiful smart intense fierce brunette for another one. His dad was pc, but when it's your kid, there’s always another story.

In group they all had to say one good thing that happened to them today Kolby told them how his kitten was finally coming to him when he called his name. Sasha was excited that she finished her salad today, dressing and all without being prompted. Maggie had a stack of books on her nightstand, she could never focus through her depressive episodes to read one. But she picked one up and started it today. Craig was next to Stan, clutching his hand and listening intently to each person’s story. 

“I picked a topic for my science fair project today. A real working model of the solar system, I'm going to put a motor in it and everything so it will rotate.” He told them softly. His hand was tan and smooth and soft and Stan couldn’t help but selfishly wish it was just the two of them here, talking about their day. He had to share him and the joy of his science fair topic and it made him feel like a shitbag to want to deny Craig this. He was a selfish, unhappy person too. He felt their eyes on him, waiting and prompting them to go next. 

“Oh, well, I got to hear about Craig’s topic for the science fair.” He looked over at Craig and saw him smile his real braces covered little grin. “It makes me feel good when he’s happy.” He told them and he heard Maggie awww. But their therapist didn’t seem as enthralled by this and he tried to remember if there was some rule about them dating. They were clearly holding hands, so he was blind if he hadn’t noticed until now.

He held them back and explained that while there were no official rule about relationships, he just didn’t want this to impact their respective mental health journeys. 

“I just want you to be healthy people.” He was young and had a permanent worry line in his forehead and Stan wondered if he had ever noticed that before. Craig nodded so solemnly. He was trying so hard to be on the path to recovery. He took his medication and he attended the therapy sessions. He wanted so badly to go back to his old life and be the Craig he was before all this. He was strong and smart and stoic, this really came as a shock to his loved ones. He would tell Stan how he felt he let everyone down, they worried about him all the time now. That he woke up one night and his parents were in his room, checking on him, making sure he was still here. They barely let him shower alone, afraid of what they would be walking into again. It made him feel so ashamed, his cheeks lit up pink and hot under the skin as he told him this in hushed tones alone in the room where all his secrets were kept. Craig was on the path to trying to be better, be content. Tether himself to this earthly plane. 

“You’re good for me.” Craig told him on the car ride home from therapy. It was almost as if he could sense his worry. What if he wasn’t though? What if they ended up fucking Sid and Nancy’ing each other? He worried about Craig all the time, he consumed all his thoughts. Not the way he used to, where he constantly felt like he was half hard and if he didn’t get home to pull at his cock it would explode. But all the ways he could take care of him. He looked for him in the hallway to make sure he wasn’t overwhelmed. Or that Cartman could misbehave at lunch or maybe he was putting just too much pressure on himself with grades and activities and he had to be first chair. Maybe he was the problem. He worried all the time, that was what he did. He was so used to being the town hero, he wanted to be his hero too. 

He was watching Craig fine tune the motor on his science project, making sure the knobs and bits turned right. It was quiet, just the faintest buzz. Craig looked so determined, his brows knitted together as he was using a little screw driver to make sure the nuts were completely secure.

“This was the hardest part, the models of the planets, the moon and the sun will be easy.” He told Stan in a hushed voice as if he was trying not to spook the motor away. He reached over without looking and put his ceramic coffee cup up to his mouth. He liked his coffee with very little raw sugar and a lot of almond milk. “I think I got it, it seems to working just right.” The edge of excitement that crept into the monotone of Craig Tucker’s voice made his heart skip a beat.

“You’re the most intelligent person I've ever met.” Stan told him so seriously, so earnest Craig looked wide eyed. He looked content for the first time in a long time. He leaned over and kissed him so gently on the mouth, the brush of his lips. The thrill of what was to come. He let Stan carry him up the stairs of his own home. He laid him on the bed and he took his time. He kissed every inch of him, he memorized all his favourite parts of Craig Tucker. His jutting collarbones. His perfect little brown nipples. The ridge of his hip bones and his knobby knees. He way he always sighed as Stan pushed in like it was the first time. It always felt like the first time, the rush of want and need and excitement. He made actual love to him like a character in a romance novel, it was slow and languid, they had all the time in the world. They were young and he was in love and he prayed against that golden skin. He prayed to the deity of choice to look over this bruised and battered fallen angel and let him find a way to be content. Find happiness, be light, be young. He hoped that he was at least a part of this bigger plan to be happy and young and content.

“Im scared that this won't last.” Craig told him later, as they laid under the weighted blanket and looked up at the artificial stars. ‘That I'm happy at the moment, everything seems to be coming together and then another episode will happen and I’ll be back where I was at the start.” He admitted. He would talk about that in group sometimes, this fear of having to start at the beginning again. New medication, new adjustments. The feeling of depression itself was frightening, but the anxiety of waiting for it to strike again is what gave him this sinking shaking feeling. 

“Then we’ll start over and I’ll be here. I'm not going anywhere.” He threaded his fingers through Craig’s and brought his hand up to his mouth. He would never leave him like that, high and dry and scared. They had been through so much together, they had found each other in this shitty, fucked up world that scared them and overwhelmed them. That despite everything that life threw at them, they were here. 

Craig was wearing a thrifted Denver Lions youth soccer club t shirt. It was navy blue and v necked with white piping around the sleeves and the neck and had three white stripes on each sleeve. It hugged his angular frame and Stan couldn’t stop staring at how soft and worn it looked. He wanted to press his face into it, between Craig’s shoulder blades. It smelled like apple fabric softener and Craig was carefully painting Neptune for his solar system model. 

“That shirt looks really good on you.” He murmured as he pressed his mouth into the junction of where Craig’s throat met his shoulder. Craig put down the brush and the styrofoam ball of Neptune and turned to kiss him. 

“You’re distracting me, put this on the drying rack.” He nudged at Stan with his nose gently. He was so whipped and everyone knew it. They knew it as they would see him carry Craig’s bookbag and viola everyday into school. As he followed Craig around the town thrift shop looking for interesting sweaters and tee shirts. They would bring the haul home to Craig’s mom so she could wash them up and fluff them with apple scented fabric softener and they were all so well loved and had a story to tell. They saw it as they clutched each other’s hands in group therapy and drove with each other to their respective one on one therapy. As they laid in bed together and he held Craig when he cried about his bad days and let Stan brood about his own. They were there for when they just fucked it all up. Craig getting a D on his calculus test and Stan pinching the bridge of his nose as fumbled at hockey practise. They fucked up and it sucked and they beat themselves up over it. But they had each other other. That wasn’t some magical cure all fix it, but it helped. Made the day a little more bearable. 

“So bossy, this is just like when we were ten and working on something together.” Stan teased him gently. Stan did work with Craig once on a science project and he was bossy. He wanted everything his way and he was always right. Back then he chafed under it and would argue back. Now, he would have accepted the easy A and moved on. He leaned life was easier when you accepted the inevitable. 

“Stop it Stanley.” Craig looked over at him with his giant dark eyes and beckoned for him to come closer. “If you’re nice, I’ll be nice.” He tugged at the front of Stan’s Park County high school hockey hoodie and kissed him gently. He kept his word and was very nice to Craig. Put all his planets on the drying rack and helped him make Saturn’s rings that evening. Craig also kept his word and curled around him on the couch while they watched the Denver Avalanche play the Detroit Red Wings. He brought him a bottle of the fancy root beer the Tuckers bought that tasted like soft sweet vanilla and let him wrap his arms around his thin waist. They sat like that all night, just curled into each other’s arms. 

Craig had a bad day. He had trouble getting out of bed, nothing felt right. He was late to school and was distracted through his classes. He didn’t feel like socializing at lunch and barely made it through the first half of the day. His viola broke a string and he kept missing the notes. He didn’t have group today and he didn’t have one on one therapy. But he wanted someone to talk to and he didn’t want to worry Stan. He found himself laying on his bed and looking up at those artificial stars. It made him feel some comfort, the familiar among the unfamiliar. He had lived with these feelings and they still surprised him. He wasn’t a great communicator, he didn’t know how to vocalise how he he was feeling at any given moment. He tried to find reasons why these things happened. What was the most logical reasoning for why he was feeling so hopeless. 

He turned on his side and looked out the window. It was snowing and it was always snowing in South Park. He liked the snow, it was calming and pretty. It made him feel at peace the way only a select number of things did anymore. It was a bad day, nothing went right. It was so tempting to go under the depression. To allow it take over and just let it flow over him. It was like taking a warm bath and you just slide under the water of the tub looking up at the distorted world above you. But he had the tools, the coping mechanisms the therapist suggested. He took a deep breath, he would tackle this one at a time, one little piece by one little piece. He could replace the string on his viola and have it tuned. He would set his alarm for fifteen minutes earlier so he had time to just lay back for a few moments. He would study harder for his math test, get extra help. He took a deep breath, he closed his dark eyes. He felt his chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. He could do this. He didn’t have to go under. Clyde came over that night with the new Smash bros and they played. He chose to be Pikachu, even though he sucked and Clyde was Kirby, so they were more evenly matched. It was fun and he laughed. He didn’t think about the broken string. The failed math quiz. How he just couldn’t get his words out right at lunch. He knew there was no quick fix, it all still hummed under his skin, this ever creeping feeling of sadness. But some days it was a little easier than others. Clyde spent the night just like when they were kids. Curled up under his weighted blanket, under those pasted on glow in the dark stars. 

“I had a bad day yesterday.” He told the group, clutching Stan’s sweaty hand in his own. “Nothing went right. I failed my math quiz, broke a string on my viola. I woke up late and that set a tone for my entire day. But I remembered what Dr. Parchard told us to do. I tackled one thing at a time, I took a deep breath and I ended up having my friend Clyde come over to distract me from the bad day.” Stan squeezed his hand a little harder and he felt like he had an anchor. Stan was his lighthouse in all this, leading the way for him to find his way back. He knew if it wasn’t for Stan being here, he would have quit the group. He wasn’t good in groups of people, he didn’t like to talk much. Talking about his feelings were even worse, it was a recipe for disaster. But Stan was familiar. He made things a little easier to navigate. He was comforting, he felt he could curl up around him. 

“Excellent Craig.” Dr Parchard smiled at him and he was young and still had that worry line in the center of his forehead. “Who would like to share next?” Craig could hear Tyler start talking about his day and he peeked over at Stan and gave him the smallest little closed mouth smile, just the edges of lips quirked up. Stan kissed his knuckles in response and he could add this moment to a list of good things that happened to him this week.

The drive home was quiet, Dizzy playing low from the speakers. It was just lightly snowing and the world seemed so peaceful. Craig laid his head on Stan’s shoulder as he drove them home. The low peach coloured light of the sunset made everything glow, the magic hour. The best lighting for photographs. He led Stan silently up his stairs like he did that first night and they tangled themselves into each other. Stan was always so gentle as he pushed in, their bodies were one. As the pleasure made its way from the pit of Craig’s stomach to the long gangly limbs, spiking back into his core, his mind was clear. Everything in that moment was the smell of Stan’s skin, the soft way they were both breathing. They were trying so hard to keep quiet, just little muffled moans. It was cozy and comforting and he had never felt like this about another person. He felt this surge of affection for this endearing, awkward boy who wanted nothing more than to love him. When he came sighing Stan’s name, feeling Stan lift his hips off the bed and pump into him a few more times, it was everything. It was everything he would have hoped and prayed for. The deity of his choice heard his silent prayers and sent him Stan Marsh who would do anything to protect him, to make him feel at peace in this planet he felt so detached from sometimes. He looked up at Stan with his big dark eyes and he memorized all the planes of his face, the way his patchy stubble scratched his chin up and his eyes were so big and such a deep navy blue. He reached up and cupped Stan’s jawline with his hand and they rested their foreheads together for a moment. 

“I love you.” He told Stan softly. He rarely said it first, it was such a huge scary sentence. They were words you weren’t supposed to take lightly. He would tell Stripe he loved her, his parents and sister he loved them. Tweek told him he loved him when they were in the eighth grade. It was the first time they had kissed like they were dying, unlocking some door they were too afraid to touch. All tongues and awkward limbs trying to curl around each other. He looked up at Tweek’s green eyes and slightly crooked nose. He smelled like coffee and cheap body spray and something new. This hormonal edge of someone who was experiencing their first erection from actual physical contact. He told Craig he loved him, he didn’t have to say it back. He didn’t say it back, he didn’t know if he loved Tweek. He just knew he loved Stripe, he loved his family and sometimes he loved Clyde too. Stan was the first boy he knew he loved. He could feel it humming underneath his skin. The myth of butterflies and fluttering in your stomach. Stan made the world feel calm and peaceful. The peachy coloured glow of hope that sputtered around him and he felt he could reach out and grasp it. He loved Stan Marsh. 

“I love you too.” Stan kept his forehead on Craig’s, looking into those infinite dark eyes. The universe was such a big place, it was vast and never ending. There were days where nothing was going to go right. You would lose your way, the path seemed too dark to follow. Hope was hard to find and even harder to hold onto. There were no magic fixes, love wasn’t some cure all. No music was going to swell and suddenly you had the will to live. Craig knew the road to recovery wasn’t going to be easy. Stan was never going to be the easy way out, but having someone there who understood, it was good. It made things seem manageable. One little thing at a time, one person to talk to. Find the little things that made the day worth getting through. Find the triggers, find the start of the bad road to go down. His parents walked on eggshells around him and sometimes he felt like he had let them down. Tricia never talked to him about it and he was too ashamed to tell any of his friends. They all thought he was sick for two weeks. Stan knew. He knew all the ugly parts, he saw him at his worst. He was still here. He was still here in his bed, holding him in his arms and looking into his eyes.They were here, they were together. It wasn’t going to be easy, but they had each other. 

Craig Tucker had tried to kill himself three months ago. He went through his day with the knowledge that he was going to end his life when he returned home from school. Nothing in his day went right. Nothing in the past few months went right. He failed his history test. He wasn’t connecting with his friends. He had a crush on Stan Marsh and he didn’t seem to reciprocating that. He didn't know how to talk to his parents about the nagging depression he had felt since he was twelve years old. He just knew he was sad and he didn’t know what do about that. He sat in his class and planned exactly what he was going to do. He remembered the look on his dad’s face when he found him, how he picked him up like he weighed nothing. His parents crying in the ambulance. He remembered asking the paramedic if he was going to die. He said he didn’t know and he cried at the answer.

Craig Tucker was alive, he was here in the world. He was going to go to school tomorrow. He had finished his science project and Stan said he would help him carry it to the display table. He would buy his lunch, he wanted a grilled cheese sandwich. He was going to go to French club after school and eat french butter cookies and watch A Cat in Paris. He was going to come home and do his AP European history homework and start his paper on Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston. He enjoyed reading it, one of the few books this year he really liked. He was going to send Stan a thirst trap snap of his hip bones because he liked knowing Stan was going to be thinking of him before bed. He was going to feed Stripe and play with her and wake up tomorrow and probably do a combination of at least one of these things. He was going to live his life, he was going to find some sort of fulfillment in these things. He was going to keep working contentment in his young life. He was going to wake up tomorrow. He would reach for Stan’s hand as they walked into school and he would pretend he didn’t notice Stan’s hands drifting from his waist to his hips to give his ass a playful squeeze by his locker. 

He would wake up tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a tentatively optimistic ending to a sad sort of fic.


End file.
